


This Right Here

by feroxargentea



Category: due South
Genre: DSSS Treat, M/M, Mild BDSM, Threesome - M/M/M, explicit without being explicit, sub RayK
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-02 14:42:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8671486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feroxargentea/pseuds/feroxargentea
Summary: Ray lies there, entangled and sticky, for maybe another hour. Not doing anything, just lying there lazy and sated, ’cause it’s Friday night and he’s got a room and a bed and a door that locks, and there’s no earthly reason he’s gotta get up the next day.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verushka70](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verushka70/gifts).



> Written for verushka70 for due South Seekrit Santa 2016.
> 
> Thank you to alltoseek for beta.

* * *

 

Ray lies there, entangled and sticky, for maybe another hour. Not doing anything, just lying there lazy and sated, ’cause it’s Friday night and he’s got a room and a bed and a door that locks, and there’s no earthly reason he’s gotta get up the next day, not after Welsh told him and Fraser to keep their ugly mugs out of his station for the whole goddamn weekend or else. Four cases closed in one day: the Lieu had looked almost happy.

The last disc in the CD changer reaches its end and clicks off, leaving them in sudden, jarring silence. It’s Fraser who stirs first. He lifts a hand and brushes the damp hair off Ray’s forehead, tracing careful fingertips across Ray’s jaw and cheekbones, probing till Ray flinches and pulls away.

“Ah,” Fraser says. “I’ll fetch you an icepack for that.”

“Nah, it’s fine, forget it,” Ray says.  He touches the tip of his tongue to his bridge, where a tooth got knocked out in a high-school hockey game twenty years back. He’s never liked ice on bruises, never thought of it as a healing thing. Abrasive, dirt-streaked, blood-streaked, yeah. Comforting, no.

Besides, any contusions will be gone by Monday, ice or no ice. Fraser never leaves marks, and he won’t have let Smithbauer leave any either. Nothing that can’t be covered up with a long-sleeved shirt, anyway. Fraser had checked Ray would be okay with tonight, asked him twice, three times before Ray told him to shut the fuck up and quit asking, so it’s not like Ray can make a fuss now.

There were a thousand points in these last few crazy months Ray knows he could have said no. He could have said it when the CPD gave him the assignment in the first place. He could have said it when Fraser ran into a burning house, or drowned his car in the lake, or made him take a bullet, or shoved him into the john that first time and jerked him off and then stood staring at him, breathless and aghast. He could have said it when Smithbauer wanted to watch, or when it turned out he wanted to do more than watch. Ray had been cuffed, yeah, but he hadn’t been gagged. He could have said no.

Smithbauer yawns and rolls away, stretching his legs, connecting hard with Ray’s shin. It’s not that big a bed, not when there’s company.

“Sorry,” Smithbauer mutters. He gets out of bed and straightens slowly, one hand pressed to the small of his back, easing his spine into shape like a man twice his age. Hockey’s left its mark on him too. He retrieves his jeans from halfway across the floor, pulls them on and reaches for his boots.

“Take a shower if you like,” Fraser offers. “You’d be welcome to stay the night, too.” He sounds so sincere that Ray almost believes him.

“Nah,” Smithbauer says. “Thanks, I better get going. Besides, you two are...” He raises a hand as if to gesture but then thinks better of it and shrugs instead. He’s looking at Fraser, not Ray, like Ray’s not even there. He’s been looking at Fraser all evening, even when he was fucking Ray. Especially when he was fucking Ray.

 _Asshole_ , Ray thinks. He doesn’t mind sharing Fraser once in a while, ’cause the whole world wants Fraser and it’s hot as hell to see them wanting, but it’s his goddamn apartment, after all.

“Well then,” Fraser says, “be sure to look us up the next time you’re in Chicago.”

Smithbauer hesitates and this time he does meet Ray’s eyes, in a quick assessing glance. So, maybe not a total asshole. Ray can’t tell what he’s looking for – permission? absolution? – but whatever it is, he seems to find it. He looks back at Fraser.

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, thanks, man. I might do that.” He hefts his rucksack and turns, and the apartment door snicks shut behind him.

Ray exhales and slumps into the pillows, letting the tension drain from his limbs, muscle by aching muscle. Fraser shifts, turning Ray to face him, tugging gently at Ray’s hair. He touches a finger to the sore patch at the corner of Ray’s mouth and Ray can’t stop himself wincing.

“Ray?” Fraser says. “You sure you’re okay?”

Ray doesn’t know what to say, so he leans into Fraser and says nothing, because he’s not okay. “Okay” isn’t even close to what he is. It’s not just the wrong word, it’s the wrong fucking _language_.

It’s the word Fraser uses for his own feelings, though, on those blue-moon occasions he admits to having any. And from the way he’s holding Ray fast, pinning him down just a little too hard, like he thinks Ray might bolt for the door any second, it’s kind of obvious what he means by it.

This isn’t who Ray Kowalski is, and Fraser knows that. He can tell when someone’s playing a role. This isn’t what Ray ever did, isn’t what he ever wanted, and Fraser _knows_ that. Takes a bullshitter to spot a bullshitter, right? Fraser might have Smithbauer and the rest of the world fooled but Ray can see the Mountie act for what it is, see the doubt and insecurity and bewilderment behind it. Fraser doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing half the time and he sure as hell doesn’t know when it comes to Ray.

But Ray – Ray thinks he kinda maybe does. This right here? This isn’t what he signed up for, isn’t anything close, but he’s starting to think he might be pretty much okay with it, whichever way he translates “okay” out of Fraser-speak and into the real world, the world of long sleeves and plausible deniability and separate apartments, where _partnership_ and _trust_ and _liaison_ mean whatever the hell people want them to mean.

Fraser is dropping kisses on Ray’s eyelids now, mouthing gently across his cheek and along his jawline, with the softest pressure where it hurts the most. Ray shoves his face up to Fraser’s and kisses him harder, letting Fraser lick at his tongue and push into his mouth until Ray’s lips are stinging and he can taste the iron-rich blood, until Fraser forgets the bruises, forgets to be careful, forgets that Ray could say no, that Ray never said yes.

Ray feels Fraser’s breath hitch, feels Fraser hardening against his hip, and he pushes back, grinning wide, hissing at the flare of pain in his split lip. He lets Fraser pull him to his knees and feels the mattress shift as Fraser leans over him, with more weight now than his shaking arms can take.

This isn’t the role he signed up for, true, but he’s starting to think it’s the one he was looking for. Bowing his face to the cool cotton sheet, he holds out his wrists for the waiting cuffs.

 


End file.
